


tulips & carnations

by Murf1307



Series: Valentine’s Day 2018 Fic Storm #1 — For My Gullfriend [1]
Category: John Dies at the End (2012)
Genre: Language of Flowers, M/M, Valentine's Day, dinner for two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: For once in their lives, John and Dave are both single on Valentine’s Day.  And thus ends the longest game of Gay Chicken in history.





	tulips & carnations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gullapip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gullapip/gifts).



> Please note I have not read the book. Also, this fic contains some ableist language, because this is a pair of high-school-educated white dudes in the mid 2000s. Please be advised.

It’s kind of pathetic, John thinks sometimes. They’re in their mid-twenties, now, and John still hasn’t built up enough nerve to tell Dave how he really feels. It’s like they’ve been playing Gay Chicken for a decade now, and John’s not sure he can see an end in sight.

Which, wow. That sucks.

Especially since he’s really realizing it now, on fucking _Valentine’s Day_. He and Dave are both single, which is unusual, and John wonders if part of the reason he’s so bummed about the situation is that neither a girl nor jealousy can distract him from the inertia.

He’s pretty sure that if Dave doesn’t love him back in the way John wishes he did, he wouldn’t, like, destroy their friendship over it. A decade of Gay Chicken has pretty much ensured that.

But it still feels like a risky play.

He flops back on Dave’s couch — which, he guesses, is kind of _their_ couch, now, since John moved in three months ago, but it still feels weird to call it that — and sighs heavily.

Dave’s at the video store, and will be for a couple of hours.

An idea starts to work its way to the top of John’s mind, and it only takes him a few minutes and an impulse to get up and get to work.

 

* * *

 

Dave gets home, fully expecting to find John sprawled on the couch with the netflix queue up and a six pack ready so they can ignore the holiday, but as he heads down the hall to the apartment, he frowns.

Is that _Barry White_ music wafting from their apartment?

There’s no way John found a new girlfriend in the _eight hours_ Dave’s been gone, and he would’ve called if he needed the apartment to himself.

Still, a little unnerved, he’s very careful as he opens the apartment door.

The lights are dim, and he’s alarmed to find _candles_ are strategically placed around the living room. Their kitchen table is absolutely festooned with them. Really, where had John found this many candles?

“John?” he calls into the dimly lit apartment. “Do I need to leave?”

John immediately appears from down the he hallway to the bedroom. “Nah, come on in,” he says, and, immediately, something seems off.

Dave doesn’t know what he’s in for, and he can feel the anxiety building as a result.

“What’s all this about?” he asks.

John flushes. “Well, I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Dave looks mournfully at the kitchen table. “And _that_ is a fire hazard.”

 

* * *

 

John can already feel this going off the rails. “Yeah, well. Thought it might be nice,” he says. “Uh, also, I ordered a pizza, so that should be here soon.”

Dave at least takes off his coat and puts it away, which John is going to assume is a good sign. “Sounds good.” He sounds distracted, like something’s on his mind, or maybe he’s trying to process this whole situation.

John stays quiet, waiting for Dave to notice the other decorations, or the flowers on his chair, or make a comment about the music. _Something_.

Dave winds up noticing the flowers first.

John had asked the girl at the flower shop about flowers besides roses that would mean “I’ve always loved you,” and she’d assembled the bouquet: yellow tulips surrounded by white and green carnations. Essentially, it meant “hey, turns out I’m super gay for you and will love you forever even if you don’t love me,” and that’s pretty much what he was trying to say.

 

* * *

 

Red roses would have been a joke.

Dave has a feeling that these flowers, instead, _mean_ something. He doesn’t know what, but the world still tilts on its axis a little bit, because _John bought him flowers_ , and they _mean_ something.

He lifts the bouquet and considers it. Yellow tulips, and white and green little ruffly flowers he doesn’t remember the name of. The green ones jog something in his memory, though, something Amy had said once about...Oscar Wilde? He thinks that’s who she was talking about.

“So. Uh. These are nice,” he says, trying to fight down the way his stomach is doing acrobatics in his rib cage.

He looks at John, who is watching him like he’s trying to interpret fucking tea leaves or something. Dave figures that’s probably warranted, though. He’s not really great and making himself clear at the best of times, and he’s really not good at it when he’s as thrown as he is right now.

Of course, this is the exact moment that the doorbell rings.

 

* * *

 

John basically scurries to the door, glad to break the tension, and he pays the pizza guy and prays the guy doesn’t think too hard about what he catches a glimpse of.

He brings the pizza back to the table. “Aw, shit,” he realizes.

Dave jerks, a little, looking at him. “What?”

“I think I might’ve overdone it on the candles. There’s nowhere to put the pizza.” Great, now he looks dumb _and_ gay.

Which, okay, sure, point taken, but still. It’s the _principle_ of the thing.

Dave lets out a short laugh that seems to surprise even him. It’s nice, though, to hear. Dave shakes his head and grins. “Put it on the counter, I’ll move the fire hazards.”

John grins too, more than a little relieved by Dave relaxing. He does as he’s told. “They’re not fire hazards, they’re _ambiance_ , according to the issue of Cosmo I stole to reference.” Hey, it’s not like he has any grasp on decorations, normally. He’s not _that_ gay.

He’s just gay _enough_.

“Of course you did,” Dave says, shaking his head. He sounds fond, and that’s a good sign.

John starts to think, once again, that maybe this will go okay.

 

* * *

 

It’s too easy to fall into the rhythm of a domestic routine with John, Dave has found. He’s just comfortable with him in a way he’s never been with anyone else.

He clears the candles off the table, but doesn’t move to turn the light on. As weird as this is getting, he does kind of like the ambiance. While he doubts John’s going to do anything like confess his undying affections — he’s pretty sure John doesn’t have any for anybody, much less for him — it’s kind of nice to pretend he might.

They sit down at the table, the box between them. Their kitchen table is pretty small; it’s just big enough to let them lean their elbows on the table and keep the pizza box in the middle.

Dave’s halfway through his second piece when he finally gets up the nerve to ask: “So, uh. What’s all of this supposed to be for?”

John freezes for a second. “...I guess you didn’t get the flowers figured out, huh?” he asks, faux-lightly, as if this is just one of the gay jokes they’ve been making at each other for almost a decade now.

“Pretty sure the green ones have something to do with Oscar Wilde, but I don’t know shit for sure,” he says, equally lightly and equally fake.

John takes a breath. “I’m in love with you.”

Holy shit.

* * *

 

John doesn’t know how to read Dave’s shocked reaction. He just hopes that Dave doesn’t hate him for it, though he doubt he would.

Dave blinks. “D’you — do you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, you’re not kidding around.” Dave looks nervous, and that makes John nervous.

But he still stays honest. “I’m not kidding. I’m really in love with you. ‘S what the bouquet means.”

“O-oh.” Dave blinks at him again.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I get that,” John says, carefully. “That’s what the yellow one means. I love you, even if you don’t love me.”

Dave exhales. “And the other ones?”

John replies almost immediately. “The white ones are for, um, undying devotion. I figured that, since I’ve been dead, it’d be kinda funny. And the green ones are, the girl told me, they’re supposed to be something gay guys wore in the 1800s.”

“So, basically, you’re gay and undead and you love me?”

“Yeah —“

He’s cut off by Dave’s mouth crashing into his.


End file.
